Drunk
by KiranDrawss
Summary: It was true that not much fucked him up anymore. Rick drank Beer, Vodka, and heck, even Whiskey for breakfast most of the time... but too much Hennessy and he'd be close to blackout drunk. He laughed to himself, feeling the idea to be enjoyable, and wasted no time in getting shitfaced.


**AN:**

This was based on my HC here: journal/Feelings-583702494 And the drawing of that HC: art/I-appreciate-you-584211544

and I named it after this song: watch?v=G2fOum_KWQU

 _THIS IS **PLATONIC/FAMILY** RICK/MORTY_

(My headcanon is, Rick really loves his family but doesn't like showing emotion or anything for them because he believes that if he tells himself he doesn't it'll happen. Unfortunately, he does have a soft spot for them and these stupid motherfuckers are actually gonna be the death of him one day. Caring about people causes both him and them harm, especially since he's on the run from the government. It's dangerous to have people you want to protect along for the ride in your life as a hardened criminal. He chose to be involved simply because he misses companionship, though he won't admit that ether. Another possible reason is because he skipped out before and missed so much going on, that he has nothing but regret for that mistake.  
Another Headcanon of mine is that that memory of Rick picking up Morty as a baby is possible because one day he did come back and found little Morty and Summer and he just vowed that one day he'd come back to see them again when they were older [possibly because he was still fighting against the Galactic Federation], because he admittedly loves his grandkids so much and wants to be a part of their life so bad, unlike being absent for Beth's entire life.  
Another HC is that being absent from Beth's life is one of his biggest regrets.)

* * *

 **12:00 AM**

The still black of night and the chill that ghosted over the scientist in the family's garage, is what once again drove him to plunge himself into the depths of drunkenness. He'd been "sober" (More like cognitively functioning) for longer than he would've liked, plus the mixed liqour gave the illusion of warmth over him that was unachievable without dragging the space heater into the garage (Which was sitting in the basement collecting dust, he'd meant to use it every time fall snuck around but seemed to always resort to the other option rather than actually bring it upstairs... maybe he'd just use the parts for something one day.), but no matter - he had his old friends. While he was searching for liquor and tinkering around with his latest desired weapon (A particle-splitter that absorbed energy he could use for other purposes) he happened upon a stash of drink he'd long forgotten about, containing nothing but Hennessy Xo.

It was true that not much fucked him up anymore. Rick drank Beer, Vodka, and heck, even Whiskey for breakfast most of the time... but too much Hennessy and he'd be close to blackout drunk. He laughed to himself, feeling the idea to be enjoyable, and wasted no time in getting shitfaced.

It only took about 5 and a half bottles of the Hennessy to really kick him down. He was having fun mixing it with some of the other drinks he had lying around, as well as just drinking it straight from the bottle. Everything tingled and burned and was just really hilarious. He snickered a little as he tripped a couple times over his own feet and called himself a dumbass. Several projects and ideas were going on at once, Particle-splitter project now forgotten in the corner. Now he was working on a few thousand other machines that may or may not have been of the same nature, hiccuping and burping along the way. He loved this, being so filled with ideas and being just so stupid fucking happy that he forgot how much of a shithole his life was. It was great. Everything was great.

He threw up a little on the floor and chuckled at himself. "Idiot." The scientist slurred, taking another long draw from the bottle in his hand. He didn't worry that there was a bit of red amongst the rejected bile, he'd take care of the problem in the morning. About twenty more ideas seemed to plague his mind as he thought about the next morning's events, before staggering to get up and attempt to make the ideas come to life before the next morning.

 **1:00 AM**

He couldn't fucking wait to get to that point of getting completely and utterly trashed. He craved it like it was his own personal cloud nine he could craft straight in the garage. He'd never really communicated these feelings to anyone, but hangovers mixed with drug withdrawal, plus a night of no sleep was simultaneously the best and worst high. It had always sounded appealing to him, and when the chance came he immediately took it up and never looked back.

The trick was never to drink so much that you passed out. Never fall asleep, otherwise the high won't last. He knew this, and although in his old age it was harder to keep himself from falling asleep in several circumstances, he still tried as hard as he could to recreate the event.

A spur-of-the-moment decision occurred to him, and he even ended up taking a few drugs and prescription medication of someone else's with the drinks, and it made him feel near-invincible. He downed a bottle of vodka and threw the entire thing up in the same hour. He was so wasted and everything was amazing. Colors looked brighter and, as strange as it sounds, his vision was swimming like everything was underwater. This made things difficult to see, but he'd often just brush mistakes off like they were nothing, snickering to himself.

A thought occurred to him. He was a fucking douche to his family sometimes. He tried to reject the thought at first, but It plagued him and wouldn't go away. Of course, he had a soft spot for the little worms the majority of the time (Well, except Jerry... fuck Jerry.) but he both hated and felt protective of them in his own unique way. He wasn't going to go into it, especially not to their faces (pride and all that), but family meant nothing anyway. He swigged from his flask, not wanting to let this get him down from this very nice high. He didn't want to feel obligated to care about people he didn't have to. Caring about people hurt more people than it saved in all cases.

He considered the possibility of grabbing some K-lax from -180cF to encourage a more peppy response out of all this. No more HXX for now.

After a quick portal in and out of the room he crushed several crystals into a powder before snorting the majority of it in the next half hour, giggling to himself and feeling so energized he set his heart on more of his projects.

 **2:00 AM**

By two, things had slowed down to a relaxing crawl. He had ended up on the floor, propped up against the wall after a pretty intense vomit. He wiped some drool from his lip as he stared at the flickering light closest to him, eyes glazed over. The contact of his arm with his head felt out-of-world-ish and numbing. He felt like there was a layer of himself under his own skin and forcing anything against it felt tingly and _awesome_. He itched at his face, feeling the same sensation and flashed a stupid, dopey grin. He'd definitely recommend this one to Squanchy.

He tried to stand up in this state, and though he was stumbley, he made it back to his stash to kick back the last of the Hennessy mixed with Vodka. He found himself hiccuping and burping even more than usual before slumping against the same wall once more, fighting any remaining urges to sleep. His thoughts scrambled randomly as he fought, swigging the drink with pride.

 _Goddamn I'm such a dick to Morty_.

The thought Interrupted his state and he half-grunted in defiance, nearly knocking over the flimsy shelf next to him as he flung his arm to the side, as if a physical push back would chase the thoughts away. It didn't.

 _Morty might be a pain in the ass but he still puts up with you_. His thoughts interrupted as he stood again to down another drink. _I really want to tell him he's great, and how much I appreciate his company_...

There was a pause between taking another prescription pill & drink where that didn't seem like such a bad idea. Just a little wouldn't hurt. Although he knew he wasn't like other grandfathers, he figured not a lot of people would be so willing to put up with his stupid ass. Morty did it every day, and Rick didn't even have the audacity to tell him why he did what he did most of the time. While Rick barely acted like he cared, or wanted to tell Morty how much he appreciated his company despite being a crotchety, easily annoyed lone-wolf, The opposite was true. He would if he could, he'd rather say.

Morty was his Grandson after all, that first memory of picking him up as a baby was one of his favorites. It wasn't like he wanted to cut him down, it was more like he had to. He'd been no stranger to rogue Mortys', who had learned from their Ricks' and gotten too cocky, too smart, too dangerous. Though they thought they knew everything, they were still dumbasses, incapable of taking advice from other Ricks' and ended up hurting themselves. His Morty was no exception.  
He needed to keep him in line, even if it meant not telling him everything.

He tossed the pill away and set the drink on his workbench.

Okay.

Just this once.

 **2:50 AM**

Making it up the stairs was a challenge, but he'd managed with a few slip-ups, bottle in hand. Morty's door was first on the left, so it was easy to slip into the dark room. He tried to turn the light on but couldn't seem to settle on it, vision still swimming, before he grunted a 'fuck it' and stumbled over to Morty's bed, landing with a thud that made the fourteen year old wake.

"W-wha?" he sleepily blurted out, rubbing his eyes.

"HIC-hey m-mMorty... haa ha.." The older smiled again dope-ishly, waving at him even though his grandson was still blinking back sleep.

"What's-what's going on Rick? Are w-we going somewhere?"

"S-sorry I w-woke you up, m-Morrty.. I-i-i-i-i-i din't mean to, I didn't, I.." a bit of drool coated his bottom lip as he took another swig from the bottle out of habit, a belch erupting from him afterward.

"Ugh, can you s-slow down on the drinks at night? Geez." Morty slumped down in his pillow, frustratingly tired.

"Y-yur a good kid, M-morty. I really, really... reUlly appreciate you ok?"

"Uh-huh."

"You're great..." He snickered to himself at what a mess he was, gulping down more of the drink until it was empty and he tossed it off to the side. Morty seemed to sit back up straight in that time, and Rick patted his head like a stupid proud dad. "I-i mean it, m-morty. Y-you're -iURRP/i- great..."

"Yeah, okay Rick, I get it." Morty said nonchalantly, yawning in between the sentence spoken.

"I _MEEN_ it." Rick slurred again, dropping his hand. " _URRP_ -I _MEAN_ it." His body swayed a little in drunkeness.

"Can I go back to sleep now?" Morty asked, slowblinking as he stared up at him.

"I-i..." Everything went fuzzy. Black dots danced in his vision before filling his entire sense of sight with nothing but black darkness, and before Rick even had time to think, he had passed out on Morty's bed, snoring away.

\- (If you read on you'll understand how Morty feels about all this.) -

Being woken up in the night was a regular occurrence for Morty in the past couple years, but it didn't mean he'd ever get used to it.  
Rick woke him up tonight, clearly happy about something.

"What's-what's going on Rick? Are w-we going somewhere?" He attempted to ask, only to get drunken responses he only half-understood between the haze of tiredness and Rick's frantic stutter-slurs.

"Have you been drinking, Rick?" He asked his Grandfather. The response went completely unanswered as Rick drank from another bottle of who-knows-what before belching loudly. That one nearly killed him, and he coughed a little. Whatever Rick drank, it was disgusting.

"Ugh, can you s-slow down on the drinks at night? Geez." He rubbed his face tiredly.

"Y-yur a good kid, M-morty. I really, really... reUlly appreciate you ok?"  
So that's what this was. Rick had only done this a few times, and NEVER when he was sober. At first, it gave him a small spark of hope that maybe he really DID care more than he let on, but the more this happened, and the drunker he got to do it, the more Morty brushed them off like they were nothing. They didn't mean anything, as much as he wanted them to.

"Uh-huh." He responded, nonchalant.

"You're great..." Rick snickered before chugging down more of the drink until it was empty before he tossed it off to the side, making a loud clunk against the floor, slightly muffled by the carpet. Rick then started patting his head, which was new. "I-i mean it, m-morty. Y-you're -URRP- great..."

"Yeah, okay, Rick, I get it." He yawned tiredly between his speech, just wanting to go back to bed and forget about all of it.

"I _MEEN_ it." Rick persisted, dropping his hand off Morty's head. "URRP-I _MEAN_ it."  
Morty sighed, feeling the slight prick of tears but refusing to let them get past that point. Rick would just laugh if he even remembered this. "Can I go back to sleep now?" He asked, desperate for him to just leave.

Rick swayed in his seat a little and Morty knew what was coming. In less than a second, Rick passed out on Morty's bed, and Morty face-palmed in frustration. He sighed and curled up into a ball under the blankets so he wouldn't be underneath the sleeping mass of his drunken Grandfather or accidentally kick him in his sleep before attempting to rest again once more. In the morning he'd get his mom to deal with Rick, maybe try and wake him and help him into bed at a decent time.

and Morty would think about getting a lock installed on his door.


End file.
